The Queen Lies Down
by She's Not Here
Summary: The end of a chess game that plays in Minerva's head could be the start of something entirely new. But only if they live through the embarrassment, the misunderstanding, the discomfort, and one unexpected hot flash. One Shot. MM and HG Post DH


The Queen Lies Down

* * *

With care, Minerva McGonagall levitated the half-finished game of chess from the table to the side cabinet so there would be room for her tea service. She then motioned to the younger woman carrying a tray (so as not to burden the House Elf community more than necessary) that she should enter the room.

Finally, the pair sat in matching chairs in the Headmistress' sitting room with tea and light refreshments between them. The elder woman raised her cup and smiled at her guest, one of her favorite students, 7 years graduated.

"Why is it that you are visiting, Hermione? I am afraid I never quite came to understand that. Although, I am always very happy to see you," Minerva said. And then she waited with a sincere, but quizzical look on her face.

Hermione opened her mouth, but the answer didn't come. But then, it had taken her 3 months to get here. Oh, the trip itself was a near-instantaneous Apparition, but the _decision_ to come? The fighting the panic involved? The flights of nerves that had to be battled and quelled? _**That**_ had taken months.

She could not help but laugh at herself now: as tongue tied and ridiculous as a first-year. So with a mental girding of the loins, Hermione smiled wryly and told the elder witch, "I finally realized what it was I wanted, and it's here. I've come to ask out a member of the staff..."

Minerva pushed back in her chair a bit, needing the extra space at so personal a topic. "Well, you hardly need the old Headmistress' permission for that," she tried.

"I do," Hermione said gently, "if it's you."

The cup rattled in Minerva's hand, but she did not look at it. She did not risk looking away from the younger woman and missing the joke. The punch line. The gambit. That hint of what she might possibly, _**actually**_ mean. But the infuriating young thing sat there, silently squeezing hard creases into her napkin, anxiously clenching her fists, and refusing to blink. Seemingly meaning what she had said.

They were stalemated.

The Headmistress grabbed the easiest conversational pawn at hand to interpose. "Given my age, I might be excused if I ask if I heard you correctly," Minerva finally said.

"Given the state of my nerves, I would hope a simple 'yes,' would suffice," Hermione answered, trying to smile.

Minerva said nothing more, but her posture was unmistakeable. Classic defensive. The legs were crossed tightly. The arms twined with one drawn up to half cover her face. Never had Hermione seen Minerva McGonagall like this. And yet the older woman did not simply toss her out. Perhaps, if Hermione had any mercy though, she would go.

"That you would think of me in a way I hardly think of MYSELF after all these years, Hermione," Minerva said, shaking her head. The tea cup clattered down to the table harder than the Headmistress intended. She stood abruptly and walked away from the table and fanned herself. "I beg your pardon, Hermione," she mumbled over her shoulder, as she took more strides for the window. The heat was rising from her chest up to her cheeks now, and she thought she'd melt from it. Or wished she would. She pulled at her blouse and silently cursed the ceiling. "_Lord, I've gone and triggered a hot flash. If there is a God, may I please simply drip into a puddle right here, so that we can all be spared the end of this scene?"_

The professor's eyes were still turned toward heaven, awaiting an unlikely answer, when she heard the young woman tell her, "Madam Hooch cornered me in the gardens at the Ministry Reception at Christmas. And she told me that you.... Well, that you might be interested... If it turns out that she was kidding..." Hermione trailed off, feeling a bit unwell.

"_Really, God,"_ Minerva mentally addressed the ceiling with a bit of self-abusing humor, _"I had hoped you would have stepped in by now... I've been so good. For months."_

With a sigh, Minerva turned and walked back for her seat. She looked at Hermione briefly as she sat down, and then let her head slip into her hand.

"Rolanda is dead..." Minerva said flatly.

"My God," Hermione breathed.

"Oh, she hasn't _**literally**_ stopped breathing. It's just that I'm going to have to kill her," Minerva said, her voice too high.

Hermione decided the time for that exit was now. Her former professor looked beyond embarrassed. She was flushed and sweating. "Professor... Minerva," she said. "I am so sorry for springing this on you. And upsetting you. I've made an idiot of myself. So, I'll go and I won't mention it again." Hermione stood then, but decided to seize this chance. When was the next time fate would find her alone with a stunned Minerva McGonagall, after all?

Gripping the chair, Hermione leaned down until her mouth was near Minerva's ear. She paused just long enough to breathe in everything she thought she'd never know again, the smell of her perfume, the faint trace of powder. And she whispered, "Please, let me kill Madam Hooch. It's the least I can do. I'd hate to see your reputation tarnished."

And Minerva could not help herself at hearing that bit of cleverness. Her lips began to lift up and the briefest laugh escaped her.

Before Hermione pulled away, she trailed her lips across Minerva's cheek, kissing her three times, drawing a line from her ear that ended in a kiss that lingered just at the corner of the tall woman's smiling mouth.

Minerva's eyes fluttered closed. In her head she saw sides apportioned, white and black. And she saw her rook topple down, pulling a bevy of laughing pawns with him – which of course is not right at all in chess. But then an awful lot was not right today.

Hurrying to catch up, the Headmistress met Hermione at the door and stopped her with a touch to the arm. "I'm not upset, Hermione. I'm ... floored. I'm flabbergast. I'm out-of-practice. I'm incredibly flattered. And I am being betrayed by my damn body, I fear." She might as well hammer home the difference in ages, Minerva believed. "The discussion has me in a hot flash. And I thought myself fairly done...." The voice was clipped. Near mechanical. _Like the sinking of nails into a coffin_, Minerva thought at the sound of her own speech. _ And certainly enough to set any sane young witch to running,_ Minerva reckoned, sagely.

"Why not come outside then where it's cool? Would that help?" Hermione asked.

It took Minerva a double beat to realize she had not heard the rushed good-bye she had expected.

"Being outside would help, yes. But you were supposed to turn and run in fear, confronted with the ravages of old age. Not invite me for a walk," Minerva said with disbelief. The unyielding, hopeful look in the younger woman's eyes brought Minerva the image of her last bishop careening from the field. The message was clear, the old professor was fast losing this match.

Hermione's voice was strong then when she asked, "And why would such a little thing bother me when I think you are extraordinary, Minerva. So brilliant and beautiful?"

"That's what I told Rolanda when I saw you after all these years at the reception... that you were... all those things," Minerva said, softly.

"When she told me you might feel the way I do, I knew I had to come. I had to at least try."

"A walk," Minerva said, seriously. "We will start with just a walk. Although even that may be ill-advised. I don't think you look like you are adequately dressed for it."

"If I get cold, I could just warm myself on you," Hermione tried, raising a hand to Minerva's still slightly red cheek. Biting back her laugh, Hermione turned quickly and pulled open the door to escape.

"Such insolence!" Minerva called out, as she followed the younger witch out.

And when they reached the castle doors and Hermione looked up at her, the smile was beyond compare. Easy. Happy. Warm. And yes, too young. But Minerva would have to forgive her that.

The chess board loomed in her mind again as she linked arms with the younger witch.

At the squeeze Hermione gave her, her remaining pieces all chose to retire – all except for one, symbolic relic of a game already lost.

Out by the lake, the younger woman rested her head against Minerva's chest.

And the Queen lay down.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading. I am desperate for reviews, as always. But please don't write to tell me that it is the king who decides the game. I know that. That is why I wrote that all the pieces had retired from a game already lost (already lost in literal terms, because the king was gone). And that the one remaining piece was 'symbolic.' :)


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